Ascendancy
by mimeo
Summary: Tension between Simon and Nathan builds to a violent conclusion. Warning: rape.
1. Chapter 1

They're scrubbing graffiti off the same damn wall for about the hundredth time when Nathan gets that familiar feeling of being watched. He turns and, as he guessed, it's Simon, who's paused his scrubbing and has fixed those sad saucer eyes on him not unlike a rapist hiding in shrubbery. He's always catching him staring, and it seems like whenever he's recording on his phone, it's pointed in Nathan's direction as well. Well, except for that one time a natural disaster upstaged him. He's had quite enough.

"See something you like, do ya?" He takes the few strides that separate them, raises his eyebrows and bounces up on his tiptoes to tower even more over Simon, like an animal trying to appear bigger before a fight.

"No," Simon lies, doing that nervous tick of his where he smoothes down his hair with the heel of his hand.

Curtis and Alisha try to hide their amused smiles. Kelly, however, turns to intervene, but the boys' thoughts reach her mind before she can protest and she pauses, slack-jawed in awe and mild disgust at what she's hearing from both of them. That was certainly unexpected. But she thinks she understands now; it's like when kindergarten kids pick on the ones they like the most. And to be honest, she finds it easy to believe Nathan still has a five-year-old's mentality.

Nathan catches her eye over Simon's shoulder and flashes one of those "oh shit" expressions like he so frequently does when he remembers that little mind-reading business that goes on.

"'ey, let's take a break, yeah?" Kelly, still a little stunned, turns back to Curtis and Alisha. They each raise an eyebrow at her.

"Aren't we 'posed to be doing this?" Alisha asks innocently, smacking gum and holding a dripping sponge between thumb and forefinger.

"Naw c'mon, really, let's go." Kelly shoots an urgent look at them and they shrug, trust her, happy to get away from the task at hand anyway and not in the mood to ask questions.

Simon watches them leave, knowing that Nathan won't follow, not this time, not sure whether to be concerned or thankful for that. He gulps.

"Mmmm, aaall alone, like you've always dreamed." Nathan teases, smirking and inching closer and closer, his hands in his pockets. He licks his lips blatantly, suggestively.

"What're you on about?" Simon's face displays a mix of confusion and sadness as he drops his cleaning supplies and raises one arm up to his chest as if he's being threatened.

"Ah, don't try to hide it!" Nathan points accusingly. "We all know you touch yerself to thoughts of my sweet arse!" He thrusts his hips once for emphasis and Simon's face contorts even more as he is backed against the wet wall behind him. Nathan holds his comical pose of his bottom lip jutted out, his finger an inch from Simon's nose. After a long moment filled with nothing but Simon's breathing, he finds himself almost affected by the shorter boy's pained expression, backed against the wall like prey, and his posture softens, his voice drops an octave or two.

Seconds tick by like minutes.

"Tell me, pervert, how's it go again?"

His gaze flits from Simon's mouth to his wide eyes a couple of times as he leans in, seemingly in slow-motion, before he finally lets his eyes fall shut and presses a kiss to Simon's full, quivering lips. This remains for two or three seconds before Nathan parts his own lips, still gentle, still weaseling his way into Simon's unresponsive mouth. He can feel Simon's ragged panic-stricken exhalations upon the space between his nose and upper lip, and he has to withhold a smug grin so as not to disrupt the kiss. Eventually, Nathan's eyes slowly open and he pulls back, taking in the breath he'd been delaying.

He stares with half-lidded, slightly skeptical green eyes. Simon stares back, even more deer-in-the-headlights than usual.

Then, in an instant, Simon collides with him like a freight train. He's bunching one fist in Nathan's dark tangle of hair, the other at the bottom of his t-shirt down his jumpsuit, clenching his eyes shut with that specific mix of blind fear and confidence. There's a tongue down Nathan's throat before he can form a coherent thought. Weird kid's ravenous now, and this would be very funny to Nathan if he wasn't enjoying it all so much.

Teeth scrape clumsily together as Simon turns, swapping their positions and pressing Nathan hard against the wall. One little all-important moment of wordless encouragement was all that was needed to set this bomb off, and Nathan wonders what he got himself into.

Their chests are pressed together, and even through the clothing Nathan swears he can feel Simon's heart thumping like a cornered animal's. Nathan manages to wriggle his arms between them and pushes Simon off, mainly for fear of an asthma attack or something. (He's not sure if he's got it, but he thinks Simon is just the type of kid with something about them that screams "asthma," really.)

"Jesus, cool it, cool it," gasps Nathan through a smile, doubling over with his hands on his knees. Simon backs away. He swallows audibly then resumes clenching his jaw. The emotion his eyes are conveying is unreadable, but could pass for hurt. Nathan feels a bit bad, like after you've smacked a puppy upside the head for doing something as trivial as gnawing on your shoelace. He doesn't want Simon to mistake concern for rejection. He clears his throat.

"It's not a competition, mate," he says, trying to be a bit comforting, albeit simultaneously patronizing, by patting Simon on the head, but the boy only trembles under his touch and maintains that same insanity in his eyes. Nathan frowns slightly and drops his arms back to his sides. "You wanna do this proper, right? Haven't had much practice, have you?" he mocks with a scoff.

Simon's brow furrows ever so slightly at that as he seems to take offense. He doesn't even try to counter with a remark; he never opens his mouth unless he has a fully-formed thought ready. Silence is safe. It it as this point that he realizes all of his fantasies have always been silent. Sound is the one element, the one sense he's never thought about. From films, he'd gathered that sex sounded rather unpleasant anyways. He was more focused on touch, on visuals, on what exactly someone would look like at his mercy.

He wishes Nathan would shut that pretty little mouth of his, but that seems unlikely.

"Do... Do what proper?" he finally asks, quietly, trying not to bunch his fists at his sides from the tension.

"The whole kissin' thing," Nathan says with a wave of his hand, as if it is perfectly natural and obvious that the two of them should be making out intensely against this wall. "C'mon, haven't you practiced on a pillow or somethin' before?" Simon frowns harder and responds with a simple flat "no."

"Well c'mon then." Nathan sighs exasperatedly, grabs Simon's wrist lightly and pulls them back together, slouching against the wall and staring blankly, expectantly at him.

Simon presses his lips together inwardly as he looks from Nathan's mouth to his shoulders to his cheek to his neck, not daring to meet his eyes. His stomach is churning and he fears he may vomit from anxiety. That would certainly kill the moment.

He manages to steady his breathing and place one hand at the side of Nathan's neck as Nathan continues to stare, patiently bored. This is the most passive he's ever been, Simon thinks.

Simon shuts his eyes and finally presses their lips together again. Nathan waits. And waits. And waits. He opens one eye, then two, then rolls them, thinking this is hopeless, but then he feels an awkward little nibble and soon Simon deepens the kiss.

Feeling hands on his hips, Simon is bold enough to tilt his head to the side and poke his tongue around. He hopes he's doing this right. He's far too nervous to even notice if he's enjoying it. After a moment, he dares to open his eyes, only to find Nathan's closed. He stares, entranced, taking mental note of everything.

Nathan's eyelids are shiny. His eyelashes are longer than most people's. A few stray curls interrupt the bold lines of his eyebrows and he smells like dirt and spliff but that's okay because Simon thinks normal boys are probably all supposed to.

Before he realizes it, he finds his hands pushing Nathan's jumpsuit off his shoulders and cautiously sliding under his t-shirt. Their kiss has a rhythm now, making Simon a bit more comfortable with 'multi-tasking.' He hypothesizes that he hasn't blinked in at least three minutes and wonders if fucking with your eyes open is peculiar. Maybe he'd like to find out.

He slides his hands lower, still feels Nathan's resting on his hips, pops open a belt buckle and fumbles around. He sees the corner of Nathan's mouth curve up through the kiss and thinks he must be doing something right. He presses the heel of his palm against Nathan's lower stomach, notices how much firmer it is than his own. His fingers dip down into his boxers, and he detects how Nathan tenses, inhales sharply through his nose, opens his mouth more as if hungry for their kisses. Simon cannot stop his smile from breaking through but does not want it to be noticed, so he pulls away and buries his face in the crook of Nathan's neck and shoulder as his hand finally curls around what it had been fumbling for.

Nathan's breathing through gritted teeth now, squirming, trying hard not to think of the absurdity of the situation as Simon strokes him.

After a moment Simon feels some sort of instinct kicking in and he's sinking his little teeth into Nathan's neck and he's not sure if that's proper but it feels good and he's met with no opposition so he doesn't care. He pumps his hand faster, sliding the palm over the head of Nathan's cock occasionally.

Nathan is close now and is desperately hoping that Simon will keep his face buried in his shoulder so he won't be made fun of for his upcoming facial expressions, but Simon leaves a trail of bitemarks all the way up to his cheek. Leaning back, Simon stares, his nostrils flaring, and he guesses this is what being 'drunk on power' must feel like as he watches Nathan throw his head back and crow a string of expletives and let loose.

They stand still as statues for a minute or two, Nathan's forehead resting on Simon's chest while they catch their breath. The shorter boy's feeling quite pleased with himself, but soon his smile fades as Nathan zips up his jumpsuit, pats him roughly on the shoulder, and slides away from him, away from his timidly raised hands that had been searching for some form of vertical cuddling. Simon stares, confused, his eyebrows slanted up to meet each other, his mouth agape just enough to let his bottom teeth show.

Throughout the course of their encounter, he hadn't even noticed his own erection, but now it's sort of _demanding _to be noticed. He almost feels like whimpering.

Nathan's making his way back to the main building, the distance between them growing.

He shouts without looking back.

"I owe you one. Pervert."


	2. Chapter 2

All week, Simon has been haunted.

Haunted by visions of Nathan's smirk, interspersed with the sound of the hitching of his breath, peppered with the feel of his skin, of his pulse beating through his neck at Simon's cold fingertips. All recent memories, recorded so vividly in his mind.

He's been seething at how the encounter had ended like just another teasing game, how any sense of control he had felt had been so quickly drained from him.

He plotted revenge, which he was very accustomed to doing, and thought maybe this time he wouldn't even need to get drunk to go through with it.

. . .

Come Monday, Simon waits patiently on the bench by the vending machine, invisible. According to plan, his target walks in within thirty minutes of waiting. Nathan's oblivious, yawning, going about his usual routine of humping the machine until it relinquishes something. Suddenly, something pulls him backwards, something that feels like an arm hooked around his neck. He gasps, but is too confused to overpower the force. Too late.

Simon drags him through the nearby men's bathroom doors, maneuvers into the cramped space between two of the urinals, and slams him into the wide mirror that nearly runs the length of the entire wall, a bit disappointed at first that it does not break upon impact. However, he soon sees the perverse advantage of the mirror as he notices it lacks his reflection. It only displays Nathan's face, his angrily puzzled expression, his bared teeth. Simon's fingers trail along Nathan's jawline before the taller boy snaps, trying to bite whatever the fuck is touching him. This is followed by a string of profanities. Simon assumes Nathan has him figured out now. Good. He _wants_ him to know.

Keeping him pinned with his lower half, Simon reaches around to unzip Nathan's jumpsuit and yanks his grey t-shirt up and off and uses it to bind his hands together. There is a definite struggle, yes, but Simon surprises himself with his own strength and swiftness, chalking it up to adrenaline. Besides, this has been meticulously planned. He nearly gets distracted as he notices Nathan's biceps twitch as he resists, but he pulls the knot in the shirt tight, then ducks his head under the loop created by Nathan's arms, effectively trapping their bodies as close together as possible.

Nathan's protests, which originally consisted of barked commands such as "GETTHAFUCKOFF," are now escalating to panicked yelps as he realizes the gravity of the situation. Attempts to free his hands only end up pressing on Simon's lower back, then Nathan feels something poking at _his _lower back, and that is definitely not good. The most he can do is kick frantically, but mobility is difficult in the tight space between the urinals and Simon's legs are wedged between his, so he's not really hitting anything anyway.

Simon leans over Nathan's shoulder, nipping at his neck, breathing him in. He fixes his gaze on the mirror void of his reflection and in it he only sees Nathan's skin indent with a perfect albeit shallow mold of his teeth as he bites down. It's mesmerizing. So mesmerizing, in fact, that he forgets to savor the short scream that comes out of Nathan, so he has to bite again, much harder this time. He watches the dots of red and purple bloom in the teethmarks.

He keeps Nathan still by maintaining this hold on his neck, leaving his hands free to roam across Nathan's bare stomach, feeling it heave rapidly in time with his desperate breaths. He keeps trying to choke out insults, mainly muttered refrains of "bastard" or "fuckin' nutter," but Simon senses he has accepted his fate, in a way, as he now projects fear rather than resistance. If Simon's mouth wasn't clamped firmly around his prey, it would've no doubt broken into a smile at this realization.

Nathan is so disoriented, he's not even sure what pain to focus on. His shoulders hurt from having his arms pulled back too far, his wrists feel like they're losing circulation, a massive bump is forming on his forehead from hitting the mirror, and of course his neck hurts like fuck and it feels like the skin is going to break any minute. In addition, Simon's been grinding into him slowly but forcefully since the start of this, pressing his bony hips against the tiled wall.

His fingers trail down Nathan's stomach one last time before snaking lower to undo his belt and tug down the bundled mess of his jumpsuit and tight black jeans.

Simon fumbles in his pocket until he produces a tube of lotion, the miniature kind that come with perfume in shitty department store gift sets you give to aunts you don't like at Christmas. He'd nicked it from his mother a while ago, for all those countless sexually-frustrated nights...

A chill rattles Simon, accompanied by that other unbearable tingling feeling, the one that's like every pore in your body is opening and aching for something. It was the same sensation he'd had last week, when he'd been left standing alone and looked down at himself, only this time it is coupled with excitement rather than embarrassment, as his body knows what is ahead. Without looking, without withdrawing his teeth from Nathan's neck, Simon unzips his own trousers, squirts a bit of the lotion into his palm, and wraps a hand around his stiff cock.

Nathan hears the tube clatter to the floor as Simon tosses it aside, and his eyes grow wide at the sight of it. He starts yelling for help but it's quickly reduced to a squeak and a sob as Simon bites harder and tastes blood at last.

He pushes in, eliciting another (quite girly) shriek from Nathan. Now, of course Simon's researched the proper way to go about this, gone on some particularly traumatic pages of WikiAnswers and all that, but frankly, he doesn't give a fuck. He removes his mouth from Nathan's neck to let out a tiny moan, pleasantly surprised by the pressure and warmth and at the instinctual ease with which he's now moving his hips.

Reaching back around to rake his nails down Nathan's chest, Simon breathes through gritted teeth, curling his lip with each thrust. Nathan can't hear anything; can only feel that disembodied hot breath hitting his neck, but really, he's got other more distracting sensations at the forefront of his mind right now. Simon realizes this and takes the opportunity to express himself audibly, louder than he would ever dare to alone in his bedroom at night. Each moan is simultaneously desperate and aggressive, and he thinks of forming words, something assertive and taunting to give Nathan a taste of his own medicine, but he knows they would go unheard so he doesn't worry himself. His dark green dress shirt is clinging to his stomach from the mix of their sweat, but he'd have to squirm out from under Nathan's bound arms in order to remove any clothing, so he persists.

Simon's back arches and blood pounds in his ears as he fixes his gaze on the mirror again. He thinks Nathan looks quite pretty when he cries, what with his teeth constantly bared and blood smeared across his clavicle and those little whimpers that spill out, interrupting the quieter sobs every time he's slammed against the wall by bucking hips.

Nathan's trying to go to some happy place in his head, away from this, because he's given up on it getting even the least bit pleasurable. Halfway through, he'd started hoping that maybe he'd find that male G-spot thing up his ass that everyone talked about with such fervor (hell, on one stoned afternoon, he'd even entertained the thought of utilizing a carrot to find it himself), but no, nope, this here was rape in the truest sense, and now he only prayed to nonexistent gods that he would pass out from the pain.

Simon's going faster now, feeling dizzy but determined. Without realizing it, he's standing on his tiptoes to get the right angle. At last, his head lolls back, his mouth drops open, his own breath feels stuck in his throat to the point of choking. This feeling of losing control of his body is almost the same as the one that comes over him when he disappears, only this is enjoyable, this is the _opposite _of feeling invisible, this is the first time he's had a proper fuck, and it's so _so_ much better than when he's alone. A choked squeal barely makes it past his lips as he digs his nails into the sides of the deep V formed by Nathan's hips, and it's over.

His eyelids flutter as his head tips forward and he regains his composure, catching his breath with deep panting and gulps. He presses a rough, tight-lipped kiss to Nathan's damp cheek, and the gesture somehow screams a great big "fuck you" rather than anything sentimental.

Simon's hands slide slowly down to rest limp at his sides. His breath is hot on Nathan's neck, and he takes a moment to lick his lips free of dried blood. He pulls out slowly, pressing a palm against the middle of Nathan's back to keep him trapped and upright. As Simon unbinds his hands and uses the t-shirt to wipe himself off, Nathan finally crumples into a shaking ball on the filthy floor. He feels the t-shirt hit him in the face but his eyes are clamped shut, as they have been for the past ten minutes, and he continues hissing in pain.

Simon looms over him for a moment, waiting, perhaps expecting him to jump to his feet and start spewing insults again, punching at the air, but he does not. He only continues to shudder. Silently, Simon walks out the door, twitching a bit as he turns visible again, huge smile plastered on his face.

He contemplates calling "let's do this again sometime" over his shoulder, but does not.


End file.
